Keep Quiet
by cyrilandshirley
Summary: The Brendan and Ste story, Ste's POV, up to the first night they spend together.  5 Parts.
1. Chapter 1

**Keep Quiet**

I am straddling the lap of another man, my boss actually, my arms around his neck, my chest rubbing against his, his tongue in my mouth, his hands gripping my hips and his cock buried right inside my arse. Fireworks are going off all around my body, on my skin, in my veins, my muscles, my balls, and deep inside me where no one else has ever reached. My cock feels ready to explode. And it feels … it feels fucking amazing.

How the fuck did I get here?

It started when I kissed him. I think it did, anyway. But whenever I try to think about it, I feel a bit confused. I mean … why did I kiss him in the first place? I'd never done anything like that before. Wanted to, maybe, once. But never done it. And not with some older guy who frankly I found a bit scary. Practically the first time I met him, he knocked me across the club. I'm not even sure now how I ended up working there after that, but I needed the money badly, for the kids, and that was that. I was working right alongside him. I thought if I was just careful, watched my step, stayed on the right side of him, it would all be OK.

I've always known he was capable of bad things. I watched him, at work. I knew there was drug dealing going on. I knew I had to keep him away from Amy. It wasn't just the drugs. It was the way he went about it. There's a darkness about him. Like he carries this force around him, an energy that's dangerous. Like there are very few lines he won't cross if he thinks he has to. And I couldn't have Amy around that. She lives in a different universe. But I started to see that he was desperate. That he was sort of driven. That he was under pressure. That he had secrets. That he loved his kids, back in Ireland, a long way off. That he was doing it all for them. And I knew what that felt like. We talked. I don't think I'd ever really talked to anyone about that before. About that all-consuming feeling, that you would go to any lengths to protect your kids from harm. He seemed to understand.

And things seemed to change. He was different, around me. He seemed to notice me a bit more. Made time for me. Took me in hand, with Rae and everything. And I guess I was … flattered. I mean, when have I ever had a mate like that? Or, not a mate exactly, but … I don't even know if there is a word. I don't feel like I'm his equal. I guess if I'm honest, in spite of the bad stuff, I found myself looking up to him. He seemed so … in control. And I'd like to feel like that, in control of my life. I have spent a long time, trying to get control over my life, my feelings. And I think I've been getting there, but … not like that. Not like him. He never gives anything away.

Stephen. I started to notice that he called me Stephen. I don't even know when it started. I never asked him to, he just did it. No one else called me that, not since … well, never. Mum, my step-Dad, Amy, everyone. I was always Ste. Always. But not to him. To him, I was Stephen. I liked it.

I went out, with him and his mates. He had me helping out at the poker night, first. I thought I was along as a mate. But it turns out not. He just needed a hand. I was a bit gutted, at first. It was still good, though. I felt useful. He was happy because I helped him to win, even though I knew what we were doing wasn't right. It was a massive buzz. Then there was the casino, and I really was there as a mate, then. One of the guys. And then one night some other mates of his let him down, he was at a loose end, and he seemed so pissed off, and … I asked him if he'd go for a drink with me. With me. I know, Jesus, I must have been insane. Why would he want to go for a drink with me? I don't know where I got the balls from, really. But he surprised me. He didn't hate the idea. I mean, obviously, I wasn't first choice, but he seemed up for it. And once we were out … it was great. He's … I don't know. You know, a man of the world. He knows stuff. He knows how to get what he wants. And there were women around us. That was new. I hadn't felt sexy for god knows how long. Attractive. Attracted. I liked Rae, but it seemed to have hit the buffers a bit before we even got started, though I couldn't really work out why. Brendan thought she was too young for me, but I dunno.

That's his name, by the way. Brendan.

And then we ended up back at his flat. It was a surprise, really. Unplanned. It wasn't supposed to end up there. It's just he'd forgotten most of his money, so we couldn't get into a club. And he said he had plenty to drink back home. I was a bit pissed, I think. No, I was well gone. Not so much that I didn't know what I was doing, but still. And he was … he was great. He's a funny guy. He told me stuff. Something about a busman's holiday. I'm still not really sure what that is, but it seemed really funny. He poured me some whisky, and I don't drink spirits much, in fact I don't drink anything much these days because I'm usually either working or looking after the kids, maybe a can of lager in the evening in front of the TV - but this was sort of velvety and fiery at the same time, sent flames running down the back of my throat, made me screw up my eyes, and then made my muscles warm through, and relax.. And we sat next to each other, and he seemed … interested. In me. And it was great. I wanted him to like me. It felt great, thinking that he liked me. I asked him, why me? Why not an older bloke, a bit more sussed, like Rhys, for a drinking mate? And he said maybe he liked me more than Rhys. And it all started to get a bit fuzzy. I felt this feeling, in my stomach, when he looked at me and said that. Somewhere in my body, anyway. I was buzzing from it.

I think I tried to get up to get another drink, but I don't know why, I'm such a total clutz sometimes, I fell over, I tripped over his leg I think, and he tried to stop me falling and ended up on top of me. It was really funny. I remember us both laughing. And then it wasn't. It wasn't funny at all. He was on top of me, and I could feel the weight of his body on top of mine, and his face was very close, and his hand was on my face, and it was as if … he was waiting for something to happen. It felt like that, anyway. I guess I was just very drunk. But I leant up and kissed him.

It lasted a few seconds. And it felt … I don't know. For a moment, it felt really … good. Amazing. Different. Completely different, from anything I'd ever done before. I crossed a line, without even thinking about it. I just know I really wanted it, though I had no idea why.

And then it was over. He leapt up, shocked. He shouted. What had I done? I had no idea. It was all me, all my fault. He threw me out. I grabbed my jacket, and ran. Why do I do this? Get everything wrong? How could I have made such a fucking stupid mistake?

I got home. I was shaking. I threw water on my face. And then I touched my own mouth. All I could feel was that kiss. The roughness of it, his face, his moustache, against my upper lip. I know, you couldn't make it up could you? He has this bad-ass moustache, and he is the only guy in the world who actually makes it look shit hot. More to the point though, he was completely, absolutely and unmistakeably one hundred per cent male. And I liked it. It was like lightbulbs going on all over my body. And then the fuses blowing, all at once, and being plunged back into pitch black again.

The next day, I hardly knew what to do. I only knew I wanted to sort it out with him. My heart was beating so hard I thought I would pass out. But I went into the office, and I tried to make it all OK. I told him it was me, all me. That maybe there was something about me, that I'd tried not to think about. But that it wouldn't happen again. And he seemed very quiet. He just looked at me. Into me. Through me, almost. He was unreadable. Dark. But he said it was OK. I was surprised, and relieved. But there was still a darkness there. I felt nervous, when he was around me. And he was still around me. I started to feel a bit … confused.

I went to the pub to find him, and I saw him flirting with Mercedes McQueen. My stomach tightened. I needed money to pay a delivery guy. I think that's why I went to find him, anyway. He made me feel like a kid asking his Dad for cash. I never knew my Dad, actually, and my step-Dad sure as hell never doled out cash to me anyway, whether I asked or not, so I don't know how I'd know that, but that's how Brendan made me feel. Small. And I couldn't leave it alone. I asked him about that Mercedes. And he didn't like it. I retreated to the club fast enough. I don't know why I couldn't leave it.

He followed me back there. He was right there, behind me. I felt his breath, hot on my neck. He asked me if I was looking for something to do. Had some work for me, he said. Asked me what I'd been playing at. And I don't know where it came from really, but I just squared up to him and said I didn't know what he was talking about. We were eye to eye. I don't know why I said it. I don't know what I wanted, what I expected to happen. But nothing happened. I felt flat. He wasn't bothered. Why would he be bothered what I was thinking, feeling? I went down to the cellar.

And then he was there, again. And there was only him, and me. And the darkness.

_You're not going anywhere_, he said. And locked the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Keep Quiet Part 2  
**

I thought this was it. He was going to punish me. I wasn't even sure what for. For everything, I suppose. For getting ideas. For thinking he actually liked me. For kissing him. For following him. For standing up to him. It was payback time.

The only thing I felt, down there in the half dark, was fear. The atmosphere was tense, oppressive. He came closer, and I shrank away. I just didn't want him to hurt me, because I'm not a kid, but he's bigger than me, stronger, older, and I knew if he got his hands on me I'd have no chance. My hands were slippery with sweat. I thought I was going to drop that fucking crate. He took it out of my hands and put it aside. It was the only thing that had been keeping us apart. I flinched. Waited to be hurt.

But he didn't hurt me. He kissed me.

I was terrified. My heart was beating out of my chest. He kissed me, very short, and he pulled away. I thought maybe I was going mad. Because he did it. _He_ kissed _me_. Not me, this time. And then he smiled. Dangerous. And then he kissed me again, very soft, a bit longer. And I started to realise that it was really happening. He's kissing me. He's kissing me. And I like it. And I think he does too.

He pulls back and just looks right into my eyes, as if he's looking for something. And I guess if I was ever going to shout, push him off, run away, go back to my life, Ste's life, it would have been then. But there was no chance. Never in a million years.

The next thing I knew, we were locked face to face. It was … it was incredible. I've never kissed anyone like that before, been kissed by anyone like that before. It was just, I want you, you want me, and we're going to do something about it, and we're going to do it right now. I could hardly breathe.

What happened next was a bit of a blur. It was almost pure instinct. I guess I let him take the lead, because he always takes the lead, but I was right there with him, the whole way. All I knew was his body was pressed up against mine, hard, against this pillar, he is pushing my legs apart and I almost think he's going to shag me right there up against it, but instead, he almost lifts me off my feet and we practically fall to the floor, together. It's hard, there is a brick floor uneven and rough underneath my back but he's on top of me, and my mind is kind of on other things, like the feeling that there is something hard between us, and it's him. Me as well. But what I can feel, is him. And something is about to happen that will change my life forever.

There was a lot of kissing, clumsy, urgent, shirts being pulled, the feeling of his hands on my skin, and how great his hands are, they are just great, and me fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, this bright red shirt he's wearing, and there's hair under there, dark hair. I knew there would be, I saw it at the open neck. I touch it. His muscles are hard. He wears this chain around his neck, and it dangles down over me, bright. I feel completely dazed, but completely, wildly awake. And then his hands are fumbling at my belt, my zipper, and I don't really dare, so he does his own, and then … then his hand is on my cock. I take a sharp intake of breath. He looks me in the eye, almost smiling, and squeezes. I moan. He laughs, short, deep in the back of his throat. And then he takes my hand, and he puts it on his own cock. I am touching another man's cock. And it's stiff. And Jesus Christ, he is well-endowed. I hold tight. He bites down on his bottom lip, and grunts.

And then he's kissing me again, and there is a lot of touching that is almost too much to bear. The sound and feel and smell of him is unfamiliar, masculine. And there's a thought that almost forms in my head. Has he done this before? Has he? I don't know. I know I haven't, though I wanted to, and now I know why. But I think maybe he has. Or is it just me? Have I done this to him? Have I provoked him, made him want me like this?

And then I think I get my answer. I think so, anyway. Because he pulls my trousers and boxers roughly down around my knees, and he drops his head, and he takes my cock in his mouth. Fucking hell. I mean, fucking hell! He is … a man is … Brendan is sucking my cock and I think I have died and gone to fucking heaven. I think I hear myself whimpering, like an animal. I have been sucked off before, but not like this. Not like this. Not like I am being fucking devoured. The only problem is, I can't last. It is mind-blowing, like nothing I've ever experienced, and my willpower just dissolves.

_Oh god … no … I'm gonna … _

And I come. Right in his mouth.

For a moment, afterwards, there's a silence. He drops me from his mouth, makes a strange, croony noise, and lets himself back down on top of me. I wonder if I've fucked it up. If he's disappointed in me. If he hated it.

_Sorry_ … I start to say.

But instead, he just grabs my head and pulls me into a kiss, to taste it. Fuck! I can taste myself, in his mouth. But I can taste him, too. And he tastes like … I don't know what he tastes like, part sour, part sweet, and musky, but it is a fucking turn-on. And as he kisses me, I realise he's not done with me. His hand goes between my legs and a finger finds my entry, circling it. I feel my eyes get wide, and my breath short. He brings his hand back up licks his thumb, and fingers, and takes it back down.

_Shall we see what you've got, Stephen?_ He asks me.

And he looks me in the eye, just to check. And I say nothing. But I definitely don't say no. And he sort of smiles, again.

And then I feel a finger entering me. He has long, strong fingers, and one pushes inside me, and I feel myself contract around it, tight. This is the weirdest fucking thing. He seems to like it. I like it, in a completely fucking weird way. I like it because there's something I think I can do for him. Something that he wants from me. Something that only I can give him, right now. And now there are two fingers, probing, looking for something, stretching. It's kind of uncomfortable, but feels like it's leading somewhere. And then a third, twisting, and I bite my lip. Wherever this is going, I just want him to fucking do it. And fast. Before I lose my nerve.

And then those fingers are gone. And strangely, I feel a sense of loss. But also anticipation that makes my heart bang. He pulls something out of a back pocket. Something in foil. A condom wrapper. It's a condom. Puts it between his teeth as he pushes my trousers and boxers further down my legs and I kick them off. Pushes off his own clothes until they are half way down his legs. And then he fumbles a bit, opening the condom and rolling it over himself. And then he spits into his palm, and applies some to his cock, and then he pushes my legs further apart, lifting them, and then … fuck. I can feel him. He's big. And he's hard. And he's ready for me. And he's right … there. And it's too late to bar the door now, because he's coming in.

I take one last look at him above me as he pushes his hips forward, his eyes on my face, intent, before I screw up my eyes. Bite my lip. Oh fuck, this hurts. It's fucking impossible. It's like being split in two. Like being set on fire from the inside. So why do I want it? And I do. I fucking want it. He pauses. But I want him to keep going. Oh please … please keep going. My chest is hurting. His hands grip my legs, tight. I can feel his fingers, digging into the flesh. He pushes in, hard, and the air is pushed out of my lungs as if with a punch. But I also hear him exhale. A kind of moan, from deep in his chest. The nearest I have ever got to seeing him abandon control, except that one time he went crazy in the office. I wonder if I drive him crazy too.

And then something happens. As he pushes in, and withdraws, and pushes in again, further, the pain starts to dissipate through my whole body. It seems to end up in my fingers and toes and then starts to numb. Because I'm feeling something else now. Something I've never felt before. Something there are no words for. Which is why my mouth is open but nothing's coming out of it I guess. It's like there's something, something secret right in the middle of my pelvis, behind my balls, that is begging to be touched. And not just gently either. It wants to be rubbed, pressurized, hard, and fast, pushed and pulled. My body starts to do things I have absolutely no control over. My back arches. I lift my knees higher. I grab at him, at his backside. I have sweat all over me, and it's partly mine, and partly his. I look at him, above me, as he grunts and pushes and my body keeps melting like tarmac in the sun, hot and sticky, inside and out. But he doesn't want to be watched. He kisses me to make me close my eyes, moves harder, to make my head go back. And it's really hard now, and fast, it makes me cry out and he kisses me again to shut me up, so I end up almost yelling into his mouth, and I think he quite likes that, but I couldn't stop even if he wanted me to.

I don't know what to do. I feel like I am exploding. I want to come again. Should I touch myself? Am I allowed to do that? I do it anyway. But I'm not allowed, he grabs my hand and puts it aside, and puts his own hand on my cock. Control, I think. He wants to make sure this is exactly the way he wants it. I'm happy to let him. Because I have never in my life felt anything like this before. I think that's the moment when I forget who I am. I wouldn't remember my own name if you asked me. But then you don't, do you, when you've got someone else's tongue in your mouth, and someone else's cock in your arse, and someone else's hand wrapped around your dick. It is kind of like dying, and being reborn. Like letting someone kill you, everything you were, and fuck you back into something different where all the lights are on, where you're properly who you're meant to be and you're not scared of anything anymore because there's nothing left to be scared of, because you've looked the darkness in the eye and survived it. And then all my thoughts and feelings start to merge and blend, and there's only him, grabbing at me, pumping, fucking me, and my mind goes completely blank, and I come, and I feel him stab right into me, hard, four or five times, lifting my hips off the floor.

And then I guess it was all over.

I started to become aware that I was lying on my back on a hard floor with my knees in the air. And there was a man lying on top of me. Not for long though. He shifted his weight, and withdrew from me, making me wince slightly, propping himself up on his arms and then kneeling back on his heels. I wasn't sure I even dared to look at him as my pulse started to slow. I looked at the ceiling instead while he dealt with the condom, and wiped his hand. I heard it land in a nearby bin. And then I realised he was looking down at me, from the same position, on his knees. Contemplating me, head slightly on one side. I couldn't read his expression. Was he wondering where the hell that just came from? Was he wondering how he could rid of me most easily? Or … was that as good for him as it was for me? Because I felt like I was trying to contain an all-over body shiver, and it wasn't just because the floor was cold. My muscles shook a bit. I felt exposed, being looked at like that, practically naked and with spunk all over my belly. Because no one had offered to clean me back up.

He breathed deeply, and then stood up, suddenly, pulling up his boxers and trousers, buckling up, straightening his shirt. I propped myself gingerly up on my elbows.

He paused, and looked at me.

"C'mon," he said. "Haven't you got things you can be doing?"

"I …" I started.

But he stopped and held out his hand to me. I looked at it for a second, and hesitated, but it seemed friendly, and I took it and let him haul me up. I wanted to hold on to that hand, but he dropped it as soon as I was upright. His grip was strong. I wasn't going to forget that grip. I felt like it was imprinted all over my body. I picked up my clothes, dressed, and sorted myself out as best I could.

When I was practically done, he said, "Let's take a look at yous then," and gave me the critical up and down.

He almost seemed to smile. Cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah," he said. "You'll do."

But this is weird, right? This is insane. We have to talk about what just happened. Don't we?

"Brendan …"

"Ah …!" he said, holding up a finger to quieten me. My voice died away.

He looked at me again. Got a little closer. I felt like … I needed something from him. Something. Anything. And he looked like he might want to touch me, but wasn't sure if he should, or if he could let himself. His hand reached out and straightened my hair. Just that. And I wanted more. I loved that, but I wanted more than that. He shifted a little closer and chucked me under the chin, holding my face up gently in his hand. And I loved that, but I wanted more than that too. I wanted him to kiss me. Just to show that it was OK, that it wasn't a disaster. That he didn't hate me. His face came close, his eyes scanned my face.

He seemed to be deciding whether to give me what I wanted or not. How does he know what I want? He must have decided he would give it to me.

Because his lips brushed mine, briefly, just tasting me, for a moment.

He smiled. Sort of. Half smiled. His mouth twitched.

"Follow me up in five minutes," he said, and he unlocked the door, and he was gone, disappearing up the stairs, and leaving me there.

I am left standing alone in a dark cellar. And I have just had sex with my boss. My head is reeling. My body. I lean against a wall. Everything feels different, but sort of the same. But there's one thing I've got no doubts about. That was good. For me, that was … that was fucking amazing. I have electricity running through my veins. I am buzzing. I wonder if that actually just happened. But I have enough sensations still in and around my body, enough tastes and smells, to know that it did.

After a few minutes, I went back upstairs. And for the rest of the evening he didn't come near me. We got busy, and Cheryl seemed to have a million things for me to do, and he seemed to steer clear. I saw him, across the club, talking to punters, to Cheryl, to Jacqui, to bouncers. And it was as if I was seeing him for the first time. Because I'd never looked at him before and realised how fucking attractive he was. I mean, I knew he was attractive. But attractive to me. I guess I felt it, but I just didn't know it. He's tall. He's kind of well-built, but slim. He looks good in that suit. Flash. Fly. His shirt collar is open and I can see that hair again, that glint of chain. I feel a flash of excitement, but I know what that is, now. It has to be desire, right? He is fucking hot, and I want him. And I've had him. Or he's had me. I guess we've had each other.

A couple of times, he looked across unexpectedly, from where he was standing, talking, and he saw me looking. I wanted to look away, but didn't. And he held my gaze. And my insides turned to jelly, just because he's looking at me and I'm looking at him. And he sort of smiled. Maybe that wasn't a complete disaster for him, then.

But who is this guy? Do I even know what I'm doing, here? What is it that makes me feel like this when I look at him, as if my stomach is crunching and the rest of me is dissolving? I know he's no saint. He's a bit of a mystery. But he's a player. He plays for what he can win. I think he's a bit of an alleycat really. Wild. Independent. A fighter. He manages to be rough, and sleek. Classy, and street. But that's OK, because I've always been an alleycat myself, doing what I needed to do to survive. I was pretty wild, once. Til I realised that other people needed me. My kids. Til I realised that I had it in me to be different, to do whatever it took to support them, keep them with me, keep us all together. Til I realised that I needed to be a Dad, a proper one, more of a Dad than my step-Dad had ever been to me. And I am. No one will ever hurt my kids. No one.

Half way through the night, he disappeared. I asked Cheryl where he'd gone. Tried to sound casual.

"Dunno, love," she looked a bit harassed. "Said something about having some business to attend to. You know what he's like. Law unto himself sometimes, that one."

So I ended up going home without speaking to him, or seeing him properly. I let myself into the flat and went straight to bed. Amy and the kids would all be asleep already.

I pulled off my clothes. I caught sight of myself in the mirror as I did. I stopped. I saw my body and saw what he must have seen. Remembered what I had let him do. What it had felt like. Allowed a million remembered sensations to invade me. I could smell sweat on me, and I didn't think it was only mine. I shivered, rubbed my arms. Got into bed, quickly. But I couldn't settle. I didn't exactly feel sore. I more just felt … like my body had been used in a way it had never been used before. All of it. Every part. I turned on my side in the dark and lay with my eyes open. I wondered where he was. What he was doing. If it was insane to think that he might be thinking about me.

I was wired. But I was also exhausted. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

And the next day, when I went into work, it all changed again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Keep Quiet Part 3  
**

I didn't know how I'd feel until I saw him. But he was just standing there, behind the bar, working, with Cheryl a little way off. And he looked like he owned the place. Technically, he doesn't, it's his sister's, but yeah … Brendan owns it. Completely. But then, he doesn't do anything by halves. And I just knew absolutely what I wanted. I wanted to be with him. Again. At least once more, if that was what he wanted. And more, if there was any chance. I went up to him, and he turned to look at me. And his look was completely cold. He blanked me. He didn't even bother to say morning.

I was caught on the back foot. My heart sank. But there was nothing I could do with people watching, so I left it. I thought maybe he'd completely had second thoughts. That in the cold light of day, he might be wondering what he'd ever seen in me. But as I tried to get on with my work, I realised there was something else going on. As he was talking to Cheryl, he kept casting me glances. And they seemed to mean something.

I didn't really dare to do anything for a bit after that, not while Cheryl was around, though I was desperate to find an excuse to get close to him. But I bided my time.

Eventually, I found him on his own for a moment. I needed to get past, and he almost blocked me. As if he actually wanted me to have to get close. And there was that thing, again. That vibration, that seemed to connect me to him, him to me. He looked up. And for a second, it was like he was checking me over.

_You all right?_ He asked me, a bit non-committal, but something in his eyes, hooded.

And I had to grab my chance, to let him know, that it had been good for me, and I had no regrets.

_Never better_, I heard myself say. And I don't know what gave me the guts to do it, I think I just didn't stop to think, but I put my hand over his.

There was a moment, in which he looked down at it, my hand covering his own. He didn't move. I felt a spark from the contact that was like a shock.

And then Cheryl came back in, and he took his hand away. Great timing. I felt a second of rejection, but when my pulse went back to normal, I thought I understood it. It was a secret, then. Of course, sure, it was secret. He wasn't going to want anyone to know, was he? Not until we'd both got our heads round it, anyway. That must have been why he blanked me first thing. Then he said he wanted a word with me, in private. My heart started thumping again.

We went back down to that cellar. I don't think I will ever feel the same way about that cellar again. Not after what's happened there. At that moment, I only knew I wanted to find out if somehow it could happen again.

I still wasn't sure though. I tried to remind him of what we'd done. I wanted to feel that it had been real. I went up to him, put a hand on his waist.

He seemed to freeze for a moment. Then, he got out the key, and asked me to lock the door. It sounded like an invitation.

_If you like_, I said.

I was probably getting a bit confident. Cocky even. I guess I was flirting. Because I thought it must mean he wanted me. And it felt … great. It felt great. He looked at me. He has these great eyes, piercing. I might have been scared to meet them, once, but it was different now, I felt like he was looking at me and seeing what he'd seen the previous night. Someone who he wanted. Someone who was worth wanting. I think I smiled.

_Oh … I like_, he said.

I felt like my temperature shot up a few notches. And I knew he liked me. Liked having sex with me, at least. And that felt pretty fucking good. But I think there was more, as well.

So I locked us in there. Together.

But it was a bit strange. He stood with his back to me. And it was like he was lost in thought. Struggling with something. I waited. And I started to lose my nerve a bit. Because I suddenly realised I had no problem with this. Not one. This was what I wanted. He was a bloke, and I'd never done this before, but I wanted him more than I'd ever wanted anything, and I felt completely sure. But I suddenly wondered if he felt the same.

_Do you want me to go?_ I asked him.

_No_, he said. But he didn't turn around, and I wanted him to look at me, to find out what was going on. So I reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

He span around, his arm up, almost defensive. For a moment, I wasn't sure if he was going to use it to push me away.

But he didn't. He looked at me. Seemed to see me, for the first time in a while. I felt the connection. The connection we'd had last night, that had ended up igniting something between him and me. He put his hand on my chest. And for a second, I was just intensely grateful for the physical contact. And then I just felt this acute pleasure washing over me. I think I pressed my bodyweight against his hand a little, just pushing back. And he kept looking, up and down. And at his hand, on my chest, as if he couldn't quite believe it was there, but he didn't want to move it. And then his hand went to my hair. I love that. I love having his hand close to my face, almost cupping it, but not, just feeling the warmth of it, and then feeling him stroke my hair. And I felt myself drawing closer to him, and I'm not sure if it's me moving closer, or him drawing me to him somehow – it's like gravity, you think it's all your free will, walking around, but actually, there's this force acting on you that you can never break away from, and you don't really want to, it defines pretty much every damn thing you do. This invisible attraction, that sticks you to the ground.

There was just something about that. How he stroked my hair, putting it behind my ear. It was just really … tender.

And then there was some kind of impact. A thump in the abdomen, almost like a bomb blast. I can't really remember much, but I was doubled over. Everything was black. I don't know, I think my eyes were closed. I couldn't breathe, was trying to suck in air. But I couldn't, because it was too fucking painful. It was all pain. It was like I was made for pain, there wasn't anything else.

I felt my legs collapse underneath me, folding with the impact. I must have reeled backwards because my side hit some barrels, hard, as I slid to the ground, my back against the wall.

What just happened? What just fucking happened?

I clutched my ribs, my belly, my arms across it, just trying to protect it, and pain crackled and hammered across my chest and down into my guts. And as I sat there, fighting for breath and listening to myself moan and whimper and suck in air, I realised what had happened.

He had hit me.

Brendan hit me.

He must have. But I don't know … I had no idea why. I thought he wanted … I thought I was what he wanted. That he wanted the same as I did. That he wanted what we'd had yesterday. And I must have … fucking hell, I must have fucked this up so badly. He didn't want me, I understood now, he couldn't want me. He must fucking hate me. But he didn't hate me yesterday, did he? Did he? Yeah. He must have. I think he must have, yeah.

The next bit is really confused. But I know I was crying. I think he was saying something about me having touched him. And I tried to speak, I was trying to say that I thought he wanted me to, that he wanted me to kiss him. And then he told me that I disgusted him. Disgusted him. I remember that much, pretty clearly. And he stood up and walked away. And I guess he probably thought I was a complete kid. A wimp. But I just cried. Partly just because it fucking hurt so much. But the words, as well. Words aren't supposed to make you cry, are they? Blokes are meant to be tougher than that. I've had some pretty fucking awful things said to me in my life, and about me, but … I think this one hurt the most. Just because if you expect crap, then you can't be hurt too much when you get it. But this time, I wasn't expecting this, I didn't see it coming at all. It came out of a clear blue sky, and sideswiped me. I wasn't expecting to be hurt. I was expecting to be … I was expecting something completely different. I must have been fucking brain damaged.

I don't think I made any attempt to get up off the floor. For one thing, my ribs were throbbing with agony. And for another thing, I couldn't really see the point. If I got up, he might hit me again. He was standing now, away from me. His body language was twitchy, restless. And yeah, it scared me. I hadn't been scared last night, when he was ripping my clothes off, putting his hands in my pants, but I was fucking scared of him now.

There was a weird pause. I was acutely aware that he was pacing the floor, a little way off. Troubled. I couldn't tell what was going to happen next. But then he was asking me if I was all right. I don't think I even bothered to answer. And then he was crouched in front of me, telling me to get up. He sounded different. Like he was trying to gee me up. Almost as if he'd just found me there. As if it hadn't been him who had done this to me, put me on the fucking floor in the first place. I was confused, by the way he was talking. I didn't want to let him help me, but I did want to get out of there. He grabbed me by the arm and hauled me up, and supported me out. There was something almost friendly about it. But I couldn't trust it. I felt like my head was fucking spinning.

He had an arm around me, and put my arm around his shoulder, and he helped me out through the club without anyone noticing. I felt a bit sick, and faint. He took me to his car and opened the passenger door. I looked at it, terrified.

"Where are we going?" I asked him.

He looked at me as if I was an idiot.

"Hospital," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I got in and let him drive me there. He sat in the waiting area while I was taken away by a nurse to be seen. I glanced back at him, saw his knee jiggling up and down, as if he was nervous, his hand tapping it. But when he looked at me, he didn't look nervous. Just unpredictable. I turned away.

I felt like I could barely walk, didn't want anyone to touch me. Ever again. But the doctor was nice, when she came. I was taken away to have X rays done. They confirmed what she thought. Cracked ribs, she said. They would heal, if I was careful. Avoided lifting. Three weeks, and I would be right as rain. How had I done it?

My mouth opened. I had no idea what to say. The truth? That my boss, the man sitting out in the waiting area, had had sex with me and then beaten me up? Is that what I wanted? To get the police involved? To blow it wide open, when I hardly even knew what I was doing myself? I just wanted to run away and hide my head. I couldn't face it. And to tell the truth, I felt completely humiliated.

"I fell," I said. Better than saying I'd bumped into a door, anyway. But only just.

She looked at me. "Fell?" she asked me, with a curious expression. "This injury isn't the kind of thing that's caused by a fall."

I felt myself going red. "I fell onto something. A crate. I'm an idiot."

She kept looking at me. "This needs to heal," she said, in a deliberate way. "So if you're a bit accident prone, and it happens again, you need to come and see us."

I looked up at her. "Yeah," is all I said. "Sure."

I was prescribed strong painkillers, and I was discharged, and shuffled back out to the waiting area. And he was still there.

"All right?" he asked me.

I ignored him and headed out. I don't know what he wanted me to say. I wasn't all right. I was a long way from being all right. I was fucking hurting. And I had no fucking idea why.

He drove me back to the club. I didn't want to go back there. I wanted to go home. But I didn't dare to ask. I said nothing, all the way back. And I didn't want him anywhere near the house. So I went along with it. He walked me back into the club. And there was Cheryl. As soon as she saw the state of me, she went into overdrive. She's all right, really, is Cheryl. She thinks the sun shines out of Brendan's backside, but then at times, I've thought that as well. Strange to think that I know more about who he is than she does, now. But I had the same problem as I had in the hospital. She wanted to know what had happened.

I felt his presence, behind me.

_Go on Stephen_, he said, _tell her_.

I looked at her. Her face, concerned, waiting.

_Your brother beat me up. Last night he fucked me until I was practically screaming. And today he beat the crap out of me and cracked my ribs._

I got mugged, I told her. It was all my fault. I was taking cash out of the cashpoint, and I didn't look around, and I got mugged. Stupid.

I felt his hand on my shoulder, patting.

She sat me down, fussed. As they talked, I dropped my phone. I bent down to get it, and was instantly in agony. He tried to say he'd take me into the office. My heart contracted with fear. I didn't want to go in there with him. I didn't want to be alone with him ever again.

"No!" I said, shrugging off the contact of his hand. I turned around and looked him in the eye. "I just wanna go home."

He looked back at me. I couldn't read it. I realised I barely knew who he was. But she was great. Realised that I was in a state. Offered to take me back herself. I was relieved.

He bent down and picked up my phone for me. He sounded almost kind, concerned. I knew it was all lies.

And I got out of there.

I barely left the house for the next week. Maybe that was the coward's way out, I don't know. But I couldn't face him. And I couldn't tell anyone, so I couldn't face anyone else, either.

I told Cheryl I was still sick. I told Amy I had a virus. I just had to hope they didn't talk to each other. Amy looked at me with a bit of concern as I shuffled around the house, hunched, looking miserable, but she was busy with college, preoccupied as usual, and didn't ask too many questions. I offered to take the kids while I was at home, but she just looked at me and said no, I was in no fit state, and anyway, nursery was all arranged. I was relieved, because I was dreading being in a situation where I would have to pick them up. I did everything I could to hide the pain that ached in my lungs, and around my heart, though it started to numb after about six days.

I don't know what was going through my head, that week. I had a lot of different voices going on in there, I think. One of them was loud, and clear, and strong, and it told me that I hadn't done anything which could have deserved that. Nothing. That was the one I clung to. But there were other voices in there as well. Voices that told me it had been bound to end up that way – who'd want me, after all? Voices that I still heard sometimes in my dreams that told me I deserved a smack from time to time, to make a man of me. Voices that reminded me what I'd done to Amy, and told me maybe I did deserve it after all. And a voice that I kept coming back to, that told me that in spite of what had happened, he'd definitely wanted me. That it hadn't been fake, an illusion. That he really did feel something for me. But maybe it was just all doing his head in as much as it was doing mine.

But I couldn't hide forever. Eventually, I had to go out. We had no food in. The milk had gone off. I opened the door. He was standing right there. It almost felt like he had always been there. That he would always be there, waiting for me.

"Boo," he said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Keep Quiet - Part 4  
**

He came in. I don't think I could have stopped him even if I'd wanted to.

He wanted to know why I'd not been in. I told him it was because I was worried. I was basically admitting I was scared of him. Of what he might do. He stood in front of me and faced me down. He told me I'd asked for it. And I looked at his face, and started to feel confused. I hung on to what I knew. I said I hadn't. I hadn't deserved that and I hadn't asked for it.

But somehow, I don't even know how, I ended up hearing the word _sorry_ coming out of my mouth. Again. What was I sorry for? I'd crossed some invisible line, apparently. Broken some kind of rule, that said that he got to dictate what happened, and when it happened, and how it happened.

_That's OK_, he said, his head on one side, looking at me. As if _he_ was forgiving _me_.

So I guess that was right, then. I'd done something wrong in his eyes, and I just needed to apologize for it. But somehow it was all coming out the exact opposite of how I'd expected. It was like going through a mirror and coming out the other side. I stood, confused. I felt like I hardly knew which way was up anymore. His way, I guess.

_Come here_, he said. It's bloody hard not to do what he tells you, when he talks to you like that. Issues orders. Commands. But I resisted. I still didn't feel like I'd got it straight in my head. And somehow I couldn't tell if it was an invitation, or a threat. But he used my name.

_Stephen … I said come here._

And it was like being called. It really didn't matter if it was kiss or kill. I had to go. He would do what he wanted. He always does. I got just close enough for him to reach out and put his hand on my chest, moving slowly up to my neck. He put two fingers inside the collar of my shirt, hooked them round, and pulled me towards him. His face came very close.

I waited for the impact. I knew it was going to hurt.

But then his face went past the point where someone's going to threaten you. His mouth was less than an inch from my own. I could almost taste his breath. And then he kissed me. I kept my eyes open the whole time, watching him. What was he doing, thinking? What did he want? What did I want?

It was very gentle.

_Everything OK?_ he asked me, pulling back, his eyes scanning over my face. _You want me to stop?_

So I could have taken control right then, I guess. He gave me my chance.

But he was already smiling. I think he already knew what the answer was. He just had to wait for me to give it.

I put my hand very carefully on his face, and slid it down to his neck. And I kissed him back. And I knew exactly what I was doing. I think I did, anyway. Maybe I understood now, how this worked. That if I could just get it right, not fuck up, it would all be OK. It would be more than OK. We could have what we'd had the previous week, when the world had changed. Better than that, maybe. It was a one-off, that other thing, because I'd fucked up. I wouldn't fuck up again.

I opened my mouth, and I let him back in. His tongue made contact with mine.

I let him manoeuvre me towards the bedroom. And it was different, this time. Because this time, I was much more sure what I was doing, and much more sure what I wanted. But I was much less sure how far I could go. What I was allowed to do. How much I had to leave it up to him to take what he wanted.

He took it a lot more slowly, but still deliberate, sure. He was pretty gentle, really, for him, though I guess he knew I'd still be in pain from before, and he didn't want to hurt me. When he stripped off my T shirt, he was careful, but he seemed not to notice when I winced with pain as I tried to raise my arm, and ended up trying to shrug it out of the sleeve instead. But the compensation was the way he held me and touched me afterwards, his hands running over my skin, just exploring to see what I felt like, and what made me moan, and the way he responded when I pushed off his clothes, or pulled them, when my hands went to his belt, unbuckling, the way he looked at me as I did.

I guess I felt even more exposed, this time. He undressed me completely, and himself, and laid me down. I hadn't had a chance to see his body completely naked before, and it was almost a shock, its maleness, and the way that I wanted it. And then he leant over and kissed me, very gently, on my neck, pausing to check my reaction, and to enjoy it, and I felt the prickle of his mouth, its soft warmth, down across my throat, and on down my body. I knew I was being seduced. That I was letting myself be seduced, persuaded. But I knew what I wanted. And there's something to be said for being seduced, right? It meant I had something that he wanted. I didn't know for how long, but I knew he wanted it badly, and that gave me some control, for now. Just a bit.

He kissed down past my ribs, putting his tongue out to lick my skin from time to time, as if he wanted to taste every part of me, and there's no fucking way he could not have seen the bruise. It was like some massive purple and yellow flower. But he didn't stop, and he didn't acknowledge it, and he didn't say sorry, but he did nuzzle it with his lips, and kissed past it very carefully. Maybe that was his way of making it up to me.

And then I stopped thinking about anything much, because mouth got lower, and then his head was between my legs and his mouth went round my cock, and he was sucking me off again. Jesus. I was back in that place. I don't think anyone else in the world would be able to take me to that place. I felt his tongue flicker over the tip, and I bit down so hard on my own lip to try to keep control this time, that I could have drawn blood. I glanced down, and I could hardly look, because I thought if I saw what was happening down there, I would come straight away again. But I wanted to touch him. I reached out a hand, tentative, and put it on his head. Gripped some of his hair. I think I heard an appreciative sort of grunt.

And then it started to get way too good again. It was insanely good. Beyond insanely good. But just as I felt like I was about to get sucked off into hyperspace, he stopped. Maybe it was the noises I'd been making. I looked down at him, desperate. Was he playing with me?

He looked up at me. Shook his head. Tutted.

_Not yet,_ he said. And crawled back up, until we were face to face.

He lay propped on one elbow and looked down at me for what felt like a long time. Stroked my face. Which I never expected. I never asked for that.

_What? _I asked him. I wondered what he could see.

_You're a strange one, Stephen_, he said. And he circled my mouth slowly with his thumb.

I knew what he wanted me to do. I opened my lips, and let his thumb slip inside. I sucked on it, working it with my tongue, as he just watched me, his eyes very dark. And then I did the same with each of his fingers. And when his hand was wet, he put it between my legs, and started to prepare me again.

It didn't hurt, when he fucked me, this time. Not as much, anyway, not in the same way. Partly just because I wanted it so much, I think, and I just willed myself to relax around him as he pushed in. Because I knew it would be worth it, a thousand times over. I knew what was on the other side of that feeling, and there's a lot I would have given to go there with him inside me. And partly because he knew I was already hurting, and he made sure he didn't make it worse. I think he knew he couldn't lie on top of me this time, so I lay back and watched as he knelt between my legs, and put them over his shoulders, and once he was ready, rolling the condom down over himself, he pushed in.

I swear he looked down and watched as his cock disappeared inside me. His lips were slightly parted. I could see his teeth. I heard myself cry out. And I closed my eyes.

It's hard to explain what this is like, to feel your body so invaded like this, and to want it so much. But it's like it just has to happen. Like there's this tension between us, that just has to be released, and this is how it works. My whole body vibrates under his attack. It's like finding a frequency that only him and me can hear, and everything else just fades into white noise.

So there was him, and me, and the feeling of him taking what he wants from me, my heart pounding and my breath catching and my head going back in rhythm with his movement, and this is just life, now. I can't imagine anything else. I don't want to imagine anything else. I want it to go on forever, one long slow sustained fuck, into infinity.

And it is amazing. Amazing. And I know he's feeling the same, just from the grip of his hands on my legs, and the way he breathes, and the way he looks down at me, as if I'm everything to him, right now. As if I matter.

The only problem is, it's like I'm a passive receiver of this signal. I lie back, and I let it happen, but I want to be part of it, as well. After last time, I hardly dare to reach for my own dick, which stands hard against my belly, though I'm getting to the point where if we don't bring this to a conclusion, I am going to fucking combust.

And then, just when I start to feel him coming to his climax, his movements coming harder, and more jerky, his control starting to slip, I feel him reach for one of my hands, where it rests on the bed, gripping the sheet underneath. Somewhere in the back of my consciousness, this kind of surprises me, thinking he might hold my hand as he comes, or as I come, or whatever - it doesn't seem like something he would do. But actually, he moves my hand onto my cock. So I think that means I have permission to finish this. And he watches, through heavily lidded eyes, another grunt of approval in the back of his throat that sounds almost like a laugh, as I wrap my hand around and start to touch myself. And then pump, in rhythm with this deep fundamental movement inside me that is like nothing else on earth. There is no hiding place from it. I hear incoherent, desperate noises coming out of my mouth that I haven't heard before.

And, oh god, this is really it, now. I never thought it could be such a fucking turn on to touch myself while someone else watches and buries themselves in me. Everything becomes a blur, a godamn fucking blur, like a frenzy, and then … oh god, then I just let go. And so does he.

There's a long moment where I swear the world stops turning. Him and me, we have stopped the whole fucking world.

And then it kicked back in. My eyes opened, and refocused. My chest was still heaving. He breathed deeply, in through his nose, and out of his mouth. It sounded like satisfaction.

After a while, I felt him withdraw, but he didn't move. He just knelt there, my legs still on his shoulders, and looked down at me.

_Fuck,_ he said, eventually, a smile playing around his mouth.

I think I sort of laughed.

He put my legs back down on the bed, cleaned up a bit, and came to lie on his side again, beside me, his arm under his head. He looked at me speculatively, his hand on my face. And it's as if his hand kept me there, made sure I didn't move, didn't even think about going anywhere. I never meant to go anywhere. I liked it, the way he looked at me, even if I couldn't completely read it.

After a few minutes, suddenly, he seemed to make a decision. He rolled onto his back, threw off the covers and got up, wandering around naked, looking for his clothes, pulling them on. Boxers. Jeans. Shrugging them over his backside. He was brisk. Almost business-like.

I propped myself up in the bed. He was leaving, right? What did I expect? He was hardly gonna bring me a cup of tea in bed, was he? I'm not sure I had any idea what this was right then, this thing between him and me, but it was never gonna be about snuggles and cups of tea in bed. There were no roses round the door here. I guess this was about desire. And that has its compensations. I'll take the compensations any day, if I'm honest.

But I didn't want him to go. I found my voice. Tried not to sound needy. He would do what he wanted. I knew that now.

"Going somewhere?"

He carried on belting up his jeans, and looked down at me. He seemed slightly amused, if anything.

"Well, we can hardly stay here, can we?" he said. "Amy might be back."

"Right, so, going to the club, then?" I asked him. Tried to sound non-committal. I didn't want to make any assumptions that he would want me there.

"No," he almost laughed. "No, we're going to mine," he said.

I stopped, my heart beating, my mouth slightly open. Was he asking? Or telling me? Did it matter?

His hand went to my hair, again. He stroked it back. I think that's one of my favourite things that he does. One of them, anyway. It feels like approval. Like affection.

"Cheryl's away all night, so …" he said. There was a suggestion there, that there was no way I could miss. All night.

He reached out a hand again and put it under my chin.

"You wanna?" he said.

I looked up at him. All night. All night finding out what this fucking thing is. Finding out exactly what he can do for me, and what I can do for him. There was no question in my head there. I felt a smile crack my face. I felt like it was the first time I'd smiled for a long time. All week.

I threw back the covers and practically leapt out of bed, hearing him laugh as I did.


	5. Chapter 5

**Keep Quiet - Part 5  
**

And that's how I find myself here. Spending the night with my boss. With Brendan. The man who has turned my life inside out. The man who feels like he's turning me inside out, right now. Having the best sex of my entire life.

I rushed around my room, finding clothes on the floor, pulling them on, while he looked on, amused, sort of effortlessly back to being himself. In control. Then he checked the coast was clear in the flat, and we headed out together.

It was strange, crossing the village, him walking ahead, fast, me a few steps behind, trying to keep up. It was dark already. He barely looked around at me. He strode up the stairs two at a time, like a man on a mission, unlocked the door of his flat, checked around for a moment. Called out Cheryl's name. When there was no reply, he brought me in. He closed the door behind us. And looked at me. He raised one eyebrow, seeming to relax, and reached out and put a hand on my face. Traced one of my eyebrows lightly with his thumb. He does this, scrutinizes me, as if he's trying to work out who I am, where I came from. I thought for a minute he was going to kiss me. I sure as hell wanted to kiss him. But then, the last time I'd been here, I'd kissed him, and it had gone all wrong. But I was a bit more sure of myself now.

"Drink?" he said, and backed away, suddenly, towards where he stows the whisky.

"OK," I said, a bit taken aback, and he looked back over his shoulder at me, then picked up the bottle and two glasses and turned around.

He paused for a moment, and seemed to look me up and down.

"Come on, then," he said. And led the way to the bedroom.

Brendan's bedroom. Christ, I could hardly believe I was here. Couldn't believe he would want me here, after everything that'd happened these last few weeks. I stood there like a bit of a lemon while I took it all in. Big bed. Black and white sheets. He turned the lamps on, beside the bed. They burned, soft, red. Glowed.

He started to pour two whiskies and looked at me again, amused.

"Take your jacket off, then," he said.

I felt like a bit of a prat again. I don't know how he does this to me, makes me feel so young, so inexperienced. Only a little while ago, I'd been lying naked in bed with him, watching him fuck me. You'd think I'd be starting to get used to him. And maybe I was, in a way. I slipped off my jacket and threw it over a chair. And he handed me a whisky.

"Slainte," he said, and clinked my glass.

"Yeah," I said, "Slain-cheh," I tried to copy the word, but stumbled over it. He laughed. We swigged the whisky, and he looked at me over the top of the glass the whole time. I felt it almost instantaneously seep through my whole body. I was very aware that he was standing very close. And Jesus, I really wanted him. Just something about the way my body was buzzing, from before, and the whisky, and the soft red glow from lamps. I started to think maybe … this wasn't just about sex. It was like the whisky, and the warmth of the room, and the red glow got inside my head, and I started to wonder if maybe … I could actually have feelings for him. Because I hadn't really felt anything like that for a long time, not about anybody, not since Amy. Not when you feel something in you call out to something in them. I don't know. I wanted him, anyway. And I wondered if it was time to show him how much. If he would mind. If he would like it, if that's what he was waiting for.

He took the glass out of my hands, and put both drinks down, and stood and looked at me, in that way he does, his head slightly on one side. I got a bit closer. He didn't move, he just sort of breathed. And then I leant up, to kiss him. Just before I did, I hesitated. I just wanted to be completely sure he wouldn't stop me this time. And I saw him smile, the glint of his teeth again. And that was that, really. I kissed him, and I guess it was quite soft at first - but I had definite intentions. His mouth opened and took me back in.

Tasting the whisky in his mouth took me back to that first night, again. Somehow, I couldn't even really get my head around how I'd got from there, him pushing me off, being thrown out, to here, rubbing my tongue against the side of his, and feeling his hands gripping my hair, holding my head so he can take everything he wants. I thought I'd made him angry, that I had completely screwed it all up, like I always do. Maybe I finally did something right, this time. But I'm not sure it really matters, when you're this high on it, and you feel like you're never gonna come down.

I think while we were unbuckling again and pushing off each other's clothes, he was somehow managing to pull me towards the bed, because when we were down to just our boxers, he tipped backwards and took me with him, and I ended up on top, kind of laughing, breathless.

He cradled my head again, with strong hands, holding it in place. He looked at me in a way that made me stop laughing.

"Well," he said. "What are we gonna do now we're here?"

So I kissed him, hard. And again, we kind of shifted up the bed by inches, sort of wriggling together, or by force of his will, I don't know. And while I'm kissing him, my hand just moves, almost of its own accord, to his dick, and I start to rub it through his boxers. He gives a bit of a groan, very low, like a growl almost, and after a few moments, he breaks off.

"You're getting kinda bold, aren't you, Stephen?" he asks me.

But he doesn't seem annoyed that I'm touching him. In fact, he lifts up his hips and shoves his boxers down so I can pull them off, and then he puts his fingers in the elastic of mine, and pushes them down as well. I kneel up and shrug them off, but come to lie back on top of him again. And then he takes hold of my hand, and puts it under his balls. I feel them, in my hand, cradling and rolling, and then I hardly know what I'm doing, because he's kissing me again, so hard I can hardly breathe. But I know what I want to do, lying there with his balls in my hand, and then moving to his cock, feeling it harden and twitch in my hand.

I want to see what he tastes like.

But it's kind of hard, to know how to get from here to there, the first time. So I just kind of nuzzle my lips into that dark hair on the centre of his chest, and then over one of his nipples, where he has this small tattoo, that you can see through the hair. And I pick up the crucifix he wears on a chain in my teeth, and kind of tug at it, and then drop it, and he sort of laughs, short, and I go back to nuzzling. But it's strange how now, his hand is on my head, and I feel a pressure, just light, but firm, and it's pushing me down. So maybe he does want this after all. Maybe he does want this, my mouth. Jesus Christ, is he inside my head? I must be completely transparent.

I love the smell of him, as I work my way down. It's just so fucking masculine. It's like masculinity, bottled. Sweat, and cologne, and something else … testosterone, I guess. Or just desire. One man's, for another. His, for me.

And then I get there, my lips nuzzling into the line of dark hair that runs down from his belly button, and it's standing right up, his dick, against his belly. Hard. I knew it was, I could feel it against my groin, and my belly and my chest, as I worked my way down. And now I'm looking right at it, and it kind of bounces up and hits my chin. So I guess it's do or die time. I kind of look at it for a minute, and stroke it, and then I just sort of kiss it, putting my lips against it, and his body seems to stiffen. And then I put out my tongue and lick towards the tip, feeling the strange taste, and I feel his pelvis push upwards. And then I'm at the tip, so I guess there's really no option now except to open my mouth and put it around him. Strange how the only option seems to be the one I want most of all.

I have no idea what I'm doing really, but I know what I've wanted to have done to me in the past, and I know how good he is at this, so I just work my mouth, my tongue, around as much as I can take in, but he's pretty big, and I massage the base with my hand. And all the time, his hand is on my head, pushing. He wants this. He really wants it. Me. He wants me, doing this. My whole body buzzes again, and it pushes me on to keep working at him, breathing in through my nose, and pulling him towards a climax that I just know is gonna come. I don't know what I'll do when it does, but I guess I'll deal with that when it happens, just like the way we've dealt with all of this, suddenly finding ourselves tearing at each other's clothes in a cellar. No one's gonna persuade me that was planned. I didn't plan it, anyway.

It's strange how I know that he's going to come. He doesn't whimper, like me. His fingers grip my hair, almost hurting, and in the background somewhere, I hear that he gives a dry laugh in the back of his throat.

_Oh … fuck …_ is all he says.

And then he pants, deeply, open-mouthed, sucking in air, grips the back of my head even more tightly, and suddenly something hot, and wet, and strong tasting, hits the back of my mouth. And I realise that if I'm not going to suffocate, I'm gonna have to swallow it. So I do.

As his body kind of twitches into relaxation, and I let his dick drop from my mouth, I realise that's the most power I've ever had over him. Because I guess … I guess he could have got the same, from anyone, man or woman. But he chose me. It was me he wanted. I think so, anyway. I think maybe this means something to him, as well. I hope so.

For a little while, I just lie down there, with my head on his belly, one of my hands just running over the fine dark hair at the top of his thighs. And what tells me that I might mean something, is the fact that I feel his hand in my hair. Stroking. He runs strands though his fingers, and gives that funny laugh again, at the back of his throat. He doesn't say anything though.

His body, and mine, cool down fast, though his belly, lean and flat, still feels warm. But it's getting late, and the room is less warm.

Suddenly, he moves, and I lift my head.

"Jesus … it's cold," he says, and reaches for the duvet, where it's all got rucked up, to one side, and sort of chucks it over my head. He laughs. And I take the chance to crawl up underneath it and face him.

For a while, I just lie with my hands palm down on his chest, and my chin on my hands, and look up at him, as he just gazes at the ceiling, saying nothing, the tips of the fingers of one hand tracing my spine, the back of my neck, and the other hand propped behind his head. My whole body touches along the length of his, my groin fitted against his, my own cock already partly aroused. It doesn't embarrass me at all. Not for a second. It feels right.

Then he looks down at me and runs his thumb along my bottom lip. He gives a kind of sigh.

"Stephen, Stephen, Stephen …" he says_, _"you're full of surprises tonight, aren't ya?"

And I think I just grin.

And that's when he pulls me up towards him, and starts kissing me again. Just gentle at first, like he's playing. But then it's deep, and searching, like he's looking for something in me, rooting it out. And while he's doing it, he sits up, taking me with him, and I find myself straddling his lap. And he definitely wants something from me again, because he's kissing my neck again, sucking even, quite hard, as if he wants to leave love bites. And my heart starts to hammer again. And while he's doing it, he takes one of my hands and puts it on his cock, and I start to touch again and feel him harden as he pushes his tongue into my mouth, and I suck on it, bold as brass. And then he puts his hand on me, and he seems to enjoy the way that it makes me moan into his mouth. And Jesus, I'm his, all over again.

Just as things are starting to get really heated, he lets go of my dick and grabs my head in both hands to stop me. I scan his face for a reaction, and I can see how much he wants me, even if there's still so much I don't know about him.

"Seems a shame to waste you being right there," he says.

And then he gestures, towards the bedside cabinet.

"Top drawer," he says.

So I sort of lean over and open it, while he holds my hips, and there's a packet of condoms in there. And a tube of stuff. I know what it is, vaguely. I've never used it, but it's lube. I hand him a condom and the tube, and he scoots up the bed so he's resting back against the pillows, and he grabs my hips and pulls me on to his lap again. He's almost brisk. A bit rough, maybe. But it suits me, being on top, like this. For once. For now, anyway.

He hands the condom back to me and watches, with one eyebrow cocked, as I roll it on to him. And then he empties a load of the lube onto his hand. He slicks it quickly over his cock, leaving some on his fingers, and then looks me in the eye.

"Sit up," he says.

He's so fucking bossy. But it's not like I'm likely to disobey. I kneel up, and I feel his hand go round behind my balls, and he finds my entry. And he circles it, several times, with one lubed finger, as my breathing quickens, and then he stops. And I feel one finger push inside me.

He looks me in the eye as he withdraws it and then pushes further in. And then after a while there are two, sort of stretching, and my head kind of droops down on to his shoulder, feeling his head against mine, feeling my heart start to pound. And then there are three, and I think I start to whimper a bit, feeling them twist inside me. And just when I'm wondering if I can wait one more second for the main show, they're gone. And there's a pause. I lift my head and look at him.

He says absolutely nothing, but his mouth flickers into a smile, and then his hand on the back of my neck pulls me into a kiss, very soft, sucking on my bottom lip. And I don't need any other signal. I reach behind me with a hand, and wrap it around his cock, slippery. And I kind of line it up as best I can, and he's biting down on his bottom lip, but still smiling, wolfish. And I take a deep breath, and start to lower myself down.

And … oh Christ. There really is nothing like this. Not ever. Not ever before in my life, not with anyone else. I won't pretend it's easy. If it was easy, it wouldn't be worth it. My breath catches in my throat, feeling this burn, inside me, even with the lube. But his mouth's there, sucking on my Adam's apple, the rough scratch of his mad bad facial hair, his stubble. I stop, and try to breathe.

"You OK?" he says, soft, into the hollow under my jaw, nuzzling, kissing.

But at the same time I feel his hands reach up my back, trace my muscles, willing me to keep pushing down, as if he's trying to stop himself just pulling on my hips. I just nod, and keep going, and breathe through it. And I feel my body stretch around him. And then I push right down, biting back a cry, and I'm there, right on his lap, but it feels like I can hardly breathe. But I don't really know what happens next, totally. I think my head leans on his shoulder again, but I'm so fucking dizzy with it I hardly know, and his hands are on my hips, and I know what to do, feeling his direction, which is sort of start to rock, to open up, to get used to it, and I can feel his arms around me, and his mouth covers mine. He has these amazing arms. I don't think I said. Strong. He's done some boxing, I think. There is this massive tattoo, like a cross, on the upper part of his left arm, that flexes with the muscle. I run my fingers over it. And it's fucking amazing, to be held by his arms, and kissed. And Jesus, this is worth the effort. Because his breath is coming, short now, as if he's trying to keep control himself, and I know I'm doing that. Me, holding him right inside me.

And I don't really remember much after that, except the heat of his body, and the strength of it, and the red glow from the lamps through my eyelashes, my eyes half closed, and my arms round his neck, and the movement of my pelvis against his, this friction inside and around me that feels like it's setting the whole fucking world alight, and his hair on my face, and then his mouth on my shoulder, sucking, licking, like he wants to eat me. And then being vaguely aware that he's baring his teeth, and he bites down on the fleshy part of my shoulder, and I really don't think it hurts, because I'm still making incoherent noises, cries I think, that seem to come from right inside, where it burns, hot. I want to shout out loud, but his mouth smothers me again. My own cock is hard, against the soft hair of his belly, and he puts one hand around it, and starts to squeeze.

_Oh fuck_, I hear myself say, my head going back, feeling him start to push up, hard, as he touches me, start to lose control, _oh fuck …_

And right then, I know I'm gonna come, and I'm gonna come soon.

And it is like … it's like that moment must be before you step off a bungee jump, where you just let go of all of your fear, and you throw your arms out, and you let yourself go, give everything up, totally surrender. It's like standing on top of a high building, getting ready to jump off, but knowing someone is going to be there to catch me when I take the plunge.

And I am coming … I am coming … it's here … the moment when I get ready to fall … and I'm falling, but it's perfect, it's a perfect fucking Tom Daley gold-medal-winning high dive off the highest diving board, and my whole body clenches, and contracts, and half relaxes, and I feel I am taking him with me, he's watching me come, watching me dive, and he's loving it, all I can hear is a rushing in my ears, my mind goes into total suspension, and my head goes back again, and fucking hallelujah, I'm coming right now, I hear a cry coming out of my throat as it hits me, and there's a splash, something is warm and wet, it's in my lap, and he almost laughs, like a growl in his throat, and he keeps grinding his hips as I just savour the feeling of slippery heat all over my body, and then he comes too, hard, he gives a groan, he's right there inside me as I come back up to the surface, gasping for air, and he puts a hand behind my neck and pulls me into a full mouth kiss, like mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. But somehow, I can still hardly breathe. My heart is thumping, battering my rib cage from the inside. And I think … I think that was pretty fucking good. I think I have finally found something I'm good at. I think I got something right. It felt fucking right. Did I get it right?

The look in his eyes is intense as we start to come down from the high. He holds my neck with both hands, and my forehead rests against his. He is still inside me, and I'm not sure I ever want to move. But eventually, he seems almost to pull himself together by will, and he lifts me off and almost throws me off to one side, lightly. He cleans himself up a bit and then chucks the box of tissues at me to clean up too. I feel kind of dismissed, after being so high, after being so connected. But as I put the box down on the bedside table and turn back to him, he's come to lie on his back, and he holds out an arm to me.

"Come here," he says, still looking at me, his eyes half dark, half amused, as usual, so I can see some of what he might be feeling, but the rest stays shuttered off.

And I settle down to lie in the crook of his arm. So that's a first. We've never done that before. And it feels amazing, almost as amazing as the sex, to lie there close up against his body, and to feel that I have that right, to lie beside him. My hand runs through the hair on his chest, playing with it. His body isn't like mine. My hair's fair, and fine, and it doesn't cover me like his does. I have naked, light brown skin over most of my body. He seems to like that. His is pale, but covered with these dark hairs in places.

He's quiet for a while, as if he's thinking. Then he looks at me.

"You're pretty good at this for someone who's never done it before, aren't ya?" he asks me.

I half flush with pleasure, because I think he just told me I was fucking good, but I know he's doubting me as well.

I shake my head, try to reassure him. "I haven't …"

He looks again, for a moment, then grunts. He seems to accept it.

_I could say the same about you_, I think to myself, but I don't dare ask him. I'm not sure I care all that much if he's done this before with another guy, if he thinks he's gay. But I'm not sure he'd be too happy if I tried to find out.

The fingers of one of his hands toy with my shoulder, stroking.

"You'd better watch that," I say.

"Oh yeah?" he says, looking at me, raising his eyebrows.

"You fucking bit me, Brendan!" I say.

He continues to look at me, and play with his fingers on my shoulder, while he works out if I'm teasing. I guess it must be obvious from my face that I am. He gives that dry laugh, low from his chest, and prods my slightly bruised shoulder with the pads of his fingers, almost jabbing.

"I didn't hear any complaints," he says.

I narrow my eyes at him, but I guess I'm smiling, because he just laughs, again. But he doesn't offer to kiss it better.

He goes quiet after that, and I lie and listen to his breathing, his face turned a little away from me, and after a while I think we must both drift off to sleep. Because the next thing I know, I'm awake, and it seems like it's either the middle of the night, or very early in the morning, because it's still dark, and the lamps are still burning. And I'm fucking freezing, because somehow he's managed to pin the duvet down under one of his legs, and I'm only half-covered. I shiver.

I realise I'm going to have to do something about it, but I don't want to wake him. I edge myself off the bed, and creep around to the other side. Somewhere among the jumbled clothes on the floor, I find my boxers, and my T shirt. As I'm dressing, he stirs. He seems to look for me. He tries to focus, and then his eyes rest on me, seem to drink me in. I feel self-conscious, but flattered at the same time, because he looks at me with such obvious desire. I never really thought of myself in that way before.

"Are you goin'?" he asks me. His voice is soft, sleepy, and he sounds surprised. As if he wasn't expecting me to leave. As if he didn't want me to, maybe.

"Just felt a bit cold, that's all," I say, rubbing my arms, wondering what to do next, feeling a bit awkward. Should I go?

But he resolves it for me. He holds out an arm.

"Come back to bed, then," he says.

He wants me there. He really does want me there. Something bubbles up inside me, seeing that hand outstretched, a feeling of being wanted, and by someone who's so completely everything I wish I could be. Mostly, anyway. Not what happened the other day, but mostly. He's just got the whole deal going on. I feel myself break into a smile, and I don't know what comes over me, but I basically vault over his body and land on the mattress beside him with a thump. And he laughs at me. I don't care that I look keen. I don't care about playing it cool. I just wanted to hear him laugh. And I got what I wanted.

We settle down together, and for whatever reason, I can't fall asleep again. I think it's just the novelty of being here with him. I just want to experience it. I look at the ceiling and feel his arm around my shoulder. I don't think he can sleep either. He lies with his face turned away a little, his eyes closed, but he doesn't seem completely at rest, his fingers massage the bridge of his nose, and run underneath his eyes. It's like he's lost in thought. I wonder what he's thinking. And I wonder how soon I'll be able to come back here. Before too long, I hope. If he'll let me. I guess some people out there won't understand. But lying here, with him, makes perfect sense to me.

"It's all right, innit …?" I say, into the quiet.

"Mm?" It sounds like a question.

" … when it's just you and me," I say.

He looks at me, half surprised, half curious, as if I'm the strangest thing he's ever seen. He sighs. Laughs. The fingers of one hand tense and flex.

"I'm just sayin'" I say. I just want him to know that this feels right to me. I want him to know that. I reach for the hand that rests on my shoulder, and hold it. He doesn't pull it away. It feels completely natural. He has great hands. I love them, the feel of them on me, what he can do with them.

He sighs again, his eyes closed. "You know what, Stephen?" he asks me. I look at him. "You talk too much," he says, low, from his chest, and he opens his eyes and turns his face to look at me, now. His eyebrows arch.

"Something needs to shut you up."

"What?" I ask him, trying to follow where's he going. But when I look at his face, I know what.

He pulls me towards him by the crook of his elbow, but I don't need to be pulled. Maybe this is what he needs to learn. I don't need pulling or pushing to be here. I like it just fine. I turn up my face to his, and I feel his mouth on mine. He sort of owns me, my mouth. As he pulls away, he lifts a finger to his own lips.

"Ssshhh," he says, very quiet.

And then his finger transfers onto my lips, pushing my mouth shut to make sure I don't say anything else. I think he likes my mouth, looking at it, touching it. I've caught him looking. But especially after tonight, now he knows what I can do with it. And I love it, that he can be like this with me. I feel like I belong here, with him. I'm his, in a way.

It's funny. He's funny. He makes me smile. I feel … I feel fucking great. This is what I want. But the problem is, it's not just him and me, is it?

"I don't want Cheryl finding out you're here," he says, now, resting his eyes again, "or anyone else for that matter, so …" He sighs.

It sounds like he thinks I should leave. My heart sinks. But I think I've spotted a chink in his armour. He doesn't sound like he wants me to. I need to find a reason to stay.

"No …" I say, and I lean across his body and pick up my watch from the bedside table. I'm hoping it's going to tell me that it's still only four or something. But it doesn't. It's gone six thirty. Time's running out. And I'm not ready for this to end yet, this night.

"It's only half two," I say, putting the watch back where he can't see it. And I don't know why I think he would buy that, but he seems to give way happily enough.

"OK," he says, and closes his eyes, and lets me settle down again, next to him.

And I have everything I want.

I lie, with his arm around me, keeping me with him, and my arm thrown across him, showing him I'm happy just to be there, and I look at his face, slightly turned away from me, as it relaxes into sleep. It's funny, this time of night, just before it starts turning into day. It's quiet, except for our breathing. I used to like this time, when I was a kid, if I woke up. It was the only time it was quiet in our house, that time before day starts. The only time there wasn't drunken yelling, and brawling, or crying. I used to lie under the duvet and dread seeing it get light, and knowing it would all start again. Not any more, though. I've left all that behind a while ago.

I'm very aware of my body, lying here with him in his bed. Maybe just because it's all so unfamiliar, being here with him, his bigger, stronger body. And I can still feel a kind of ache, inside me. Not a bad ache. But an impression, of his body inside mine, that my body just can't forget.

I don't know what tomorrow's gonna bring, I really don't. But I don't think he'll hurt me again. Not after what's happened here tonight. What we've done together, been together. I guess it's just one of those things where you need to find out what it is, get it sorted in your own head. And until you can do that, then it's just one of those things you have to keep quiet.

All I know is, I don't want to go anywhere. I feel like we are heading off down some road together, him and me. And I have no idea where it's going to end up. But I know I need to find out.

Because I think he might be it. I think he might be the one. The one who comes into your life, puts a bomb underneath it, and blows everything you ever knew about yourself at the sky. And all that's left is me, and him, in the middle of the falling wreckage, looking at each other. And I have no idea what's going to happen. I just hope that when the dust settles on this thing, we are both still standing. Part of me is excited. And another part of me is terrified, of what this means, of what people might think, what they might say.

But I don't think I'll care all that much. Because what hits me most of all is, I think I may be a bit in love with him already. More than a bit. I think I might be, anyway.

And, more than anything else, that scares the hell out of me.


End file.
